


sazanka

by themorninglark



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Florist Rin, M/M, Minor SouGou, Tattoo Artist Makoto, also Tattoo Artist Haru, and overcoming your fears, light feels and angst maybe??, mostly about chasing your dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 04:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5770807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/themorninglark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>On hindsight, it occurs to Rin that he'd had two big hints, in the space of that first afternoon together, that there was more to Makoto than met the eye - a lot more - </p>
  <p><b><i>one;</i></b> the incongruity of his best friend being someone as eccentric as Nanase Haruka, and, </p>
  <p><b><i>two;</i></b> the fact that Makoto had told Haru to be careful with the gysophilia.</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	sazanka

**Author's Note:**

  * For [attemptsonwords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/attemptsonwords/gifts).



> _Sazanka_ is a variety of camellia. Specifically, it is the kind in [Makoto's birthday flower crown](http://www.kyotoanimation.co.jp/shop/free/birthday/makoto/).
> 
> (I took a lot of creative liberties with both floristing and tattoo arting in this fic, seeing as how I know almost nothing about either profession. I did my utmost with research, but this is a caveat and apologies in advance for any inaccurate representations.)
> 
> Happy birthday, Sana ♥ I hope you like this gift, it really got away from me...!

 

 

 

 _"Hey, Tachibana. I've been wondering."_  

 _"Hmm?"_  

 _"Why don't you have any tattoos of your own?"_  

 

 

And he smiles; and when he does, like he always, unfailingly, does, Rin's pale, unmarked skin feels like a tattoo winding its way up through his fingertips into the veins of his body, pricking to life, breathing with sinuous lines and ink that bleeds, rose-red. 

 

 

 

❀

 

 

 

On the morning he first meets Tachibana Makoto, Rin's hair is wet and his arms are full of hyacinths. 

He is surrounded by boxes, wireframe display racks and vases of glass, wooden crates that he cannot stack on top of each other for fear of crushing the flowers, and he's hauling the lot in bit by bit, on his own, from the kerbside outside the shop. It's raining. His fringe is plastered to his eyelids. He's rolled out the awning, a creaky green and white striped affair, but there's only so far that it goes. 

It's raining, _and_ it's unseasonably warm at the same time, so his forehead's just a sticky mess of sweat. His socks are damp, and he can feel his toes going wrinkly and pruney through his canvas sneakers.  

Rin's perfectly aware that has absolutely no one to blame but himself for this. That doesn't stop him from muttering a litany of curses under his breath nonetheless. _Damn moving van. Damn Sousuke. Damn Ai, why'd he have to go on holiday at this time?_  

He crouches down next to a crate, sneezes, and watches a stray cat jump and scuttle away.  

 _Damn cat -_  

"Oh no," says someone from behind him, in tones of such abject despair that Rin forgets his own misery just for a second. 

He turns around to see a tall figure dart under his awning, puddle splashing onto the road around his slippered feet. 

" _Ah_ , they're all wet." 

And Rin, standing up with his armful of flowers, comes face to face with a tray of cupcakes. 

At least, he _thinks_ they're cupcakes. They're _in_ a cupcake tray, but they're somewhat irregularly shaped and look a little lumpen, and only half of them have frosting. Pink frosting. With little green and white sprinkles, shaped like stars. The frosting, at least, is very artistically presented. 

The cupcakes are still warm. Rin can smell them, sudden, tantalising whiffs of chocolate and lemon sponge over the scent of the cut stems, the hyacinths and the April shower. 

"I'm sorry," Cupcake Guy says, somewhat woefully. "I should have listened to Haru and covered them, I was way too impatient…" 

The first thing Rin notices about him is that he's wearing a dark blue apron with a dolphin on it, and from how tightly it's knotted round his waist, there's a very real possibility that his chest is threatening to burst out of said apron. 

The second thing Rin notices is that he has a really friendly smile. 

"Hi," says Rin, his shopkeeper's instincts kicking in. He sweeps back his fringe with one hand, in a doubtless futile attempt to look less like a bedraggled mess, and smiles back. "Can I help you?" 

Cupcake Guy blinks the rain out of his eyes. His gaze is soft, leaf-green. Unexpectedly, he laughs. 

"I'm doing this all wrong. Let me start again properly," he says, catching his breath, and pauses to clear his throat. "Welcome to the neighbourhood. I'm Tachibana Makoto, and I work across the road. Would you like a cupcake? Haru and I baked them." 

" _Oh_ ," says Rin, understanding dawning. He grins. "That's really nice of you. Thanks. I'm Matsuoka. Matsuoka Rin. Uh… I'd love a cupcake, but I'm a little busy right now…" 

Makoto looks over Rin's shoulder at the array of crates behind him. His eyebrows shoot up. 

"Eh? I could've sworn I saw a moving van - didn't they help you carry all this in?" 

"I asked them to leave it outside," Rin says, trying to sound casual, not at all like a clean freak, whatever a clean freak sounds like. "I had to mop the floor first." 

"I see," says Makoto.  

That smile appears again, fleetingly; lingers on the corners of his lips like a light tease, and when he speaks, there's the slightest hint of reproach in his voice. Rin, for some reason, feels chastised.  

"You should've called us for help. Here, let me put this down, and then I'll call Haru." 

 

 

 

 _Haru_ turns out to be a slight, sullen guy in a blue T-shirt and jeans who has brought an umbrella with him. An umbrella he didn't use. It's still closed and dry as he takes it out from inside his jacket.  

This doesn't seem to faze or surprise Makoto, who merely remarks, from where he's crouching by the counter, "You'll catch a cold again." 

Haru steps into the shop and shakes the water out of his hair with a toss of his head. He throws the umbrella over to Makoto, who scrambles to his feet to catch it.  

"You're still wearing my apron," says Haru. "Take it off. I don't want it to get dirty." 

 _Mystery of the too-small apron: solved,_ thinks Rin. 

He arranges the last of the lilies in their display case, shuts the cooler door and walks over. "Hey. Thanks for coming to help. I'm - " 

"Do you have fragile items?" Haru interrupts. 

"Huh?" 

"If you do," says Haru, "don't let Makoto near them." 

" _Haru!_ " 

"Right. Okay." Rin scratches his head and frowns at his assortment of stuff. "Can you grab the cardboard box with the red sticker on it, then? It's full of glass vases." 

Haru turns as abruptly as he'd walked in and heads towards the box in question. 

"Your colleague?" Rin asks, glancing over at Makoto, who's shrugging the apron off his head. He wonders, briefly, what they do. He hasn't had time to check out the shops across the street. He supposes they must own a bakery of some sort. The cupcake, in spite of its dubious appearance, had been pretty tasty.  

Makoto smiles. "My best friend."  

 

 

 

On hindsight, it occurs to Rin that he'd had two big hints, in the space of that first afternoon together, that there was more to Makoto than met the eye - a lot more - 

 ** _one;_** the incongruity of his best friend being someone as eccentric as Nanase Haruka, and, 

 ** _two;_** the fact that Makoto had told Haru to be careful with the gysophilia. 

 

 

❀

 

 

Rin remembers the first time he fell in love. 

He was six years old, and it was springtime too, on a day not so different from today. They were walking on the dirt path out of Sano Elementary, and they were arguing about the best strategy to win tic-tac-toe ( _the centre's a trap!_ , Rin said, go for the corners; _idiot_ , Sousuke had protested, the centre is where all the connections are so it must be the best). 

Through the canopy overhead, the raindrops that fell were like tiny little tears in the afternoon sun. 

They glistened, and as Rin looked up into the breaking fractals of light, dappled shadows and golden-green reflections in the corner of his eye, he felt the drizzle roll off the leaves, on his eyelashes. 

Sousuke raised his bag to cover his head, because he was silly about things like that; Rin grinned, and together they ran. Slowly at first, just to dodge the sudden April rain - and then - they sped up, broke into a sprint, feet pounding - racing against the elements - soaring - 

And the wind picked up, and suddenly, the rain that filled his vision was no longer clear but the faintest blush of sweet, pale pink, and it did not splash on his face but fell gently, softly.  

And he froze that frame in his mind, that shower of cherry blossoms. 

 

 

❀

 

 

Ai comes back from his family holiday to Hokkaido three days later, and after earning - and cheerfully enduring - a glowering from Rin for disappearing in his crucial Time of Need, takes to the sunny new shop space as instantly as a duck to water. 

"It's so _big_! It's really nice!" he gushes, eyes bright, as they take stock of the morning's delivery of fresh blooms, cut the geranium stems and clean the leaves. 

Rin cuffs him on the back of his head lightly and says, "Damn right. _I_ set it up, after all." 

"As expected of Rin-senpai!" 

"Well," Rin admits, "I had some help, I guess." 

"Sousuke-senpai helped you?" 

"No." Rin pulls a face. "Sousuke couldn't decorate a Christmas tree if it came dancing up to him and dumped a box of baubles at his feet. Anyway, he's busy." 

"Then…" 

"Some guys I met. They work across the road. In a bakery." 

Ai, on his way to the back room with a bucket of water, pauses and turns. He looks puzzled. 

"But there's no bakery across the road." 

"Huh?" Rin stares at Ai from round the edge of the cooler door. "Are you sure?" 

Ai leans forward and nods so emphatically that water sloshes out onto his feet. 

"Maybe you mean the pancake house?" he suggests. 

"Pancake house? What pancake house?" 

"Rin-senpai… haven't you explored the neighbourhood?" 

"Yes," says Rin dryly. "I've had a lot of time to do that. On my own. Running a shop. On my own." 

Ai cringes apologetically. 

"Well, now I'm back, so you could go today?"

With a small pang of guilt, Rin thinks about Tachibana's invitation to _come visit anytime!_. He's been so caught up settling in the past few days that he hasn't seen them at all since that rainy afternoon, and in his time-honoured tradition of erratic hours, overwork and having no time at all for lunch, he'd wound up scarfing down the whole tray of cupcakes and never got to thank them properly. 

"Yeah, I think I will," he says. 

 

 

 

Which is how, two hours later - after they've sorted out the last of the floral arrangements that need delivery today, signed for the courier and seen to a small flurry of customers - Rin finds himself standing across the road with a single pink gerbera in his hand, staring at a row of shops and wondering: 

 _where the hell are you?_  

Ai's right. There isn't a bakery in sight. There isn't even a cafe, or anything with cupcakes in the window. There's a small sushi shop, a Family Mart, a nail salon and something that looks like an art shop, with framed canvas prints on the walls.  

The pancake house that Ai had been talking about is near the end of the street, by the corner. It's a cheery yellow inside and smells of blueberries and batter. A girl with a ponytail is standing by the door. She bows and greets Rin as he approaches. 

"Hi! Welcome! Table for - ?"  

"Hey," says Rin, scratching his head awkwardly. "This is going to sound weird, but I'm looking for someone called Tachibana who works around here… along with someone called Haru?" 

"Tachibana-kun and Nanase-kun?"  

"Uh, yeah, I guess. Do they work here?" 

The girl shakes her head. "They don't work here." 

"Oh. But you know them…?" 

She smiles. "Everyone knows them. Tachibana-kun is so kind. And Nanase-kun can do _everything_. He helped us with the interior decoration. He's a great artist." 

Rin rapidly processes this. "So… they work in the art shop?" 

"Art shop?" 

"Down the road. With the artwork on the walls?" 

The girl's gaze follows the direction of Rin's finger, and when she sees the shop he's pointing at, her eyes widen with momentary surprise as she claps a hand over her mouth. Then she laughs. 

"Yes. That's their shop. It's not an art shop, though… well, I guess it is _kind of_ an art shop." 

Rin turns back to her in bafflement. "So what is it?" 

"Tattoo parlour," she says, her eyes dancing mirthfully. 

 

 

❀

 

 

In the years that passed, Rin was to learn that _love_ took many forms.  

He had spent his mornings going out with his father on his fishing boat sometimes. His sister was not allowed to go because she could not swim. When he had to watch her, he would stand at the edge of the pier and hold her hand, gazing out at the sparkling sea, at the boats growing smaller and smaller as they receded into the distant dawn. 

It was on one of those mornings that they had turned around just as the sun was coming up, raced home so that they'd be in time for school, and Rin had got sand in his shoes and resolved to remember to run barefoot, next time. 

There would not be a next time. 

There would be silence, and amidst hushed whispers and chants that resonated in his bones, there would be snowy white chrysanthemums, for truth and grief, and lilies with their beautiful scent, and Rin, too young to partake in the adults' conversations, would sit aside and stare at them, at the strange beauty that death had birthed, like seafoam on the shore. 

When he was older, he would go to the mountains with flowers in his hands. 

And he would come back, over and over again, to that frame of falling cherry blossoms in his mind, the way the petals brushed his cheek, the sweet, subtle smell of springtime filling the air.  

 

 

❀

 

 

 _It really is him._  

"Matsuoka-kun! Did you come to visit? Ah, that gerbera is beautiful!" 

Rin blinks. He tries not to gape. He feels his mouth drop open anyway, like it's trying to form something vaguely intelligent to say in response, but here, standing on the doorstep of the incongruously bright, sunlit tattoo parlour with Tachibana Makoto beaming at him, all he wants to do is pinch himself. 

"Uh," he mumbles. "Hi." 

Makoto's smile softens. 

"Hey, it's nice to see you again. Don't just stand there," he says, waving him in. 

Rin follows, still dazed. 

He had not quite believed the pancake girl, even given repeated reassurances that, _yes_ , she was sure, yes, the tattoo parlour guys were definitely the Tachibana-kun and Nanase-kun he was looking for, _yes_ , they did tattoos. That was what happened at a tattoo parlour. People got tattoos. 

Rin hasn't exactly seen many _yakuza_ in his life, but he's fairly certain that Makoto's just about the furthest thing possible from a _yakuza_. Not that he doesn't have the brawn for it. He certainly does. But - _still_ - 

"Sit down anywhere," says Makoto, as he goes over to a small counter by the side and pours Rin a cup of tea. It's warm when he hands it to him. The smell of _houjicha_ is oddly grounding, the weight of the smooth, glazed ceramic a reassuring anchor to reality in his right hand. 

"Haru made the cups," Makoto remarks, perching on the edge of a messy desk, covered with paints and half-drawn sketches. "He's out for lunch now, though, sorry about that… hopefully you'll catch him next time."

 _I'm in a tattoo parlour. Drinking tea,_ thinks Rin. _Unbelievable._

He catches a glimpse of the topmost sheet of paper, by Makoto's fingertips. It's an origami crane, etched in neat, bold lines, with a splash of blue behind that reminds him of the ocean. Below, the edge of another design peeks out, and Rin recognises the shape of it as easy as breathing; a rose, fine, curved petals folding in on each other like a clenched palm. 

Rin takes a seat on a plush, cushioned chair in synthetic leather, and sets his tea down on a side table. It occurs to him a second too late that this is probably where customers sit to - to get tattooed. 

At the thought, a faint kind of strange, pricking sensation breaks out on his skin, like his hair's standing on end, even though it's such a mild day. He realises that in his dead-set resolve not to stare too much at the tattoo paraphernalia, he's wound up staring at Makoto instead.

Makoto, like he's used to people staring, gives him a reassuring smile.

"You look surprised," he says.

"I didn't know you - you worked here," Rin blurts out, stopping himself, at the last minute, from saying _in a place like this_. 

Makoto shakes his head. "No, it's my fault. I should have properly introduced ourselves. There are a lot of shops across the road from you. You must have had a hard time finding us." 

"Actually," says Rin, "when I asked the girl at the pancake house…" 

"Oh, Yukiko-chan?" 

Rin has no idea what the pancake girl's name was. 

"She had brown hair in a ponytail," he says. 

Makoto nods. "Yeah, that's her." 

"She said everyone knows you both. And that you helped with the interior decoration." 

Makoto laughs, somewhat self-deprecatingly, as he glances round their cosy shop; framed prints and photographs of tattoos on arms, bare shoulders and testimonials that adorn their cream-coloured walls.  

It's a small space. A little smaller than Rin's unit, and there's a lot of artwork and _stuff_ hanging, lying around on surfaces and countertops. But it doesn't feel cluttered so much as it does _lived in_ , somehow. There's a comfortable, homey feel to the whole place that runs entirely at odds to Rin's mental image of a tattoo parlour, all cigarette smoke and shady corners. 

Makoto doesn't look like he smokes. He smells of deodorant, pleasant and neutral. 

"She's too kind. That was all Haru. He's the artist. All of this… it's by him." 

Rin leans forward curiously, slouching a little over his knees as he fiddles with the flower in his hands. "What about you? You don't - do the tattoos?" 

"Ah, I do, but I'm still improving. I can't do the complicated designs. Haru always said I was too clumsy for small detail."

Rin remembers: _don't let Makoto near the fragile things_ ; thinks that _clumsy_ is an alarming description to be appended to any tattoo artist. But Makoto seems to take it in his stride.

"So, this place... It's his? Yours? Both of yours?"

"Technically, the shop's in my name, because Haru isn't good with paperwork and the administrative side of things," says Makoto, chuckling. "But we split the clientele."

Rin, his mind bursting with a million questions, picks up his tea again and takes a strong gulp. It washes down his throat, hot and searing; the sensation jerks him back to the present, to _now_ and to Makoto in his slouchy, oversized plaid shirt and patient smile, looking for all the world like the boy next door you'd like to bring home to your mother.

 _The clientele._ Rin wonders what kind of customers they get. He wonders if Makoto has any tattoos under his long sleeves. He bites down lightly on the inside of his lower lip to keep from saying something dumb.

"How are you doing with the new space? It's been… three days?" Makoto asks.

Rin does a quick count on his fingers. "Yeah. God, only three days? It feels like fucking _forever_ \- uh, sorry - "

"Matsuoka-kun," says Makoto, the corners of his lips quirking upwards wryly. "I'm a tattoo artist. _Fuck_ is probably the word I hear most when I'm working."

Rin smirks. "I guess it would be."

"Are you having a hard time settling in?"

"No, no - it's just, my assistant's been away, and my best friend is a lazy asshole, so I've been on my own with the move and the shop and all, and it's hell taking a phone order while trying to do an arrangement with one hand and smiling at every damn person who walks through the door - "

"I can't even imagine doing an arrangement with _two_ hands while doing all of that," says Makoto, his gaze sympathetic. "You've really had a tough few days, huh."

Rin lets out a rough exhale, and grins. He downs the rest of his tea before getting to his feet, with some reluctance. 

"Well, I survived. Thanks for asking. I probably need to get back now before Ai freaks out about something or other… it was good to see you again, though."

Makoto nods. He stands up to walk Rin out.

"I'm just glad you found us. Thanks for going to all that trouble," he says, with a tinge of apology. "It was really nice seeing you too."

Rin pauses in the doorway, on the threshold of the doorstep.

"Oh, wait, I nearly forgot - hey, Tachibana - " 

He lifts his hand and holds out the pink gerbera.

"This is for you. For your shop. Thanks for helping me move in. And say thanks to Haru - uh, Nanase - for me as well." 

Makoto takes it.  

For someone with such big hands, his fingers are surprisingly gentle, and for that one fleeting moment, there's something in the way he holds the green stem, the way his gaze drifts downwards in the space of an exhale, lingers on the lovely, vivid petals - 

Rin thinks, maybe, he's imagining it.

He probably is. As Sousuke's so fond of reminding him, everything he touches turns into something romantic; and as with everything Sousuke says, it's edged with a glimmer of barbed truth. 

"Thank you, Matsuoka-kun," says Makoto. "It will really brighten up the place. I love gerbera." 

And Rin finds himself saying, "We get a fresh delivery every morning at seven. If you want the best pick, come then."

Makoto laughs, eyes twinkling.

"I'd gladly accept your invitation, except I'm not alive at that time in the morning."

"I'll throw in coffee," Rin adds.

"Deal," says Makoto. "Someday."

 

 

❀

 

 

Outside, a light drizzle picks up.

From a tree on the corner of the road, spring's first cherry blossom starts to fall, drifting down and landing like a gentle kiss into a puddle.

It makes no splash. Only ripples, fading lightly as the sun goes down on the neighbourhood.

 

 

❀

 

  

 _Someday_ , as it turns out, isn't tomorrow, as Rin had - secretly, subconsciously - hoped it might be, a fact he doesn't realise until he realises he's made three cups of coffee instead of two today.

Ai, with a bleary-eyed yawn, gladly accepts the spare.

Rin curses his own impatience under his breath, decides, _fuck it_ , saves a yellow gerbera and takes it down to the tattoo parlour at 3 o'clock in the afternoon. 

From behind the counter, Haru gives him an impassive look that's half appraisal, half detached interest, like he's sizing up the potential of Rin's fair, unmarked skin; Rin glares back and eyes the flower in the earthernware vase. It's blooming well.

"If you're looking for Makoto," says Haru, "he's not here."

"It's fine. Hey, Nanase, I never got to say hi to you yesterday, so - uh, hi. Nice to see you again."

"Mmm. Yeah," says Haru, laconically. "Thanks for the flower."

He doesn't seem particularly interested in small talk. He doesn't seem to be doing much either. There's a half-finished sketch on the table in front of him, some inks in shades of blue and grey, and tattoo tips of varying sizes laid out neatly to one side.

Rin fidgets, and huffs out a quick, decisive breath. 

"I'll come round after we close up," he says. "You guys will still be open, won't you?"

"Makoto's not here," Haru repeats.

"Uh, you said that already - "

"He's not here. Today," says Haru, more slowly.

Rin stands, irresolute, in the doorway, as this sinks in.

" _Oh._ Right. It's his day off, or something…?"

Haru makes a noncommittal mumble as he leans down on an elbow, props his head up in one hand and gives Rin a sidelong glance, totally inscrutable.

"Come back tomorrow. Or whenever," he says. "Unless you want me to tattoo you. I'm free now."

Rin, caught between horror and amusement, settles for raising a hand in fervent self-defense. "Thanks for the offer. I'm good."

He drops the yellow gerbera into the vase next to the pink one, leaves, and thinks little more of it.

 

 

 

With Ai properly back and the successful completion of a full week in his new shop, Rin marks Friday night with a celebration that comprises: a can of vanilla Coke, a protein-powder lemon tart pressed upon him as a moving-in gift from his enthusiastic sister, and a blooming sprig of cherry blossoms that he sets aside in a vase for himself.

"You really didn't have to." he tells Gou, when she presents him the cardboard box of pastries. "Don't you have better things to do with your time now - "

"Shut up, Onii-chan," Gou cuts him off, hands on her hips in a scarily accurate impression of their mother. "If I don't bake this sort of thing for you, your nutritional intake won't be up to scratch!"

Rin surrenders, as he always does. The tart is sweet and tangy on his tongue.

He finds - or rather, falls - into routine and familiarity, ekes out, from the inevitable ups and downs of a florist's daily life, a kind of pleasing organisation that settles his restless itch. He grows accustomed to the shape of the storeroom, to turning left instead of right when he wants to reach the fax machine on the high shelf, to the new view across the road.

The tattoo parlour isn't directly in his line of sight. He has to go to the door and look down, past the oak trees and the red post box, to catch a glimpse of the light blue doorframe and the potted begonias on the doorstep. On sunny days, they set out easels outside that show off the artwork.

Rin is fascinated by these, because among the peculiarly high concentration of marine animals and abstract designs that, Haru swears, represent the ocean or the _feeling_ of a sparkling waterfall, there's always something floral that catches his eye. It might be a lily one day, a sunflower the next. Never roses.

"Roses are boring," says Haru, flatly, when Rin asks.

"They _are_ our most popular design," Makoto points out.

"That's why they're boring. I don't like doing them. I've done so many."

"They're romantic, aren't they?" says Rin, leaning over the counter to study the rose designs. Haru's tucked them away right at the back of their catalogue, like it'll make customers less likely to choose them.

Haru gives Rin an expressionless stare that tells him exactly what he makes of that statement.

"Haru would find a mackerel much more romantic," Makoto remarks, a tiny smile on his face.

Haru shrugs. "It doesn't matter anyway. These days I get Makoto to do the flowers."

Rin's head whips round in surprise. "Really?"

"Not always," Makoto's quick to demur. "Only the easy ones…"

"You're better at them," says Haru. "Because you like flowers."

"That doesn't really have anything to do with _skill_ , Haru."

"I don't know about that," Rin says. He stretches his arms overhead, looks up at the ceiling fan and thinks of a bed of snow-white chrysanthemums.

"I think, if you love something, you'll work harder at it. You'll make it your dream."

"Was it your dream to become a florist, then, Matsuoka-kun?" Makoto asks softly.

Rin doesn't even have to think twice about it.

"Yes," he says, curling the fingers of one hand into a loose fist, and drawing it back down to his side. He remembers the feel of a young girl's hand, shaking in his; he remembers placing pale purple asters into the heart of that palm, and closing it as carefully as a secret.

He notices, from the corner of his eye, that the gerberas are still blooming. 

 

 

❀

 

 

The tattoo parlour doesn't sleep.

Or, rather, they keep a different kind of circadian rhythm from Rin's; when he locks up for the night and heads round to the back parking lot to get his car, he can't help but cast one last glance across the road and notice the steady glow of pale yellow lights behind the easels. They're always busiest when he's leaving.

Sometimes, he slows down when he drives by. They've positioned their furniture discreetly, so you can't see any of the actual tattooing from the window, but now and then, he catches a glimpse of Makoto's back.

It's broad, and reassuring. Rin's never wanted to get a tattoo, but he thinks, if ever the day came -

He'd want it to be one by Makoto, clumsy fingers and all.

 

 

❀

 

 

As spring warms into the light, balmy breezes of May, Rin's business picks up. The tulips burst into bloom, burnt orange and yellow the colour of sunshine, and the hanging wisteria make a beautiful display in the window.

There are days when Rin's rushed off his feet. In between orders, the phone ringing, and personally driving out to attend to sunflower emergencies at a client's wedding, he barely remembers to breathe.

Sousuke pops by unannounced one afternoon to say hi and check out the new space. Rin, after cuffing him on the side of the head for taking such a long time to show his face, introduces him to Makoto, who's lending Ai a hand with some furniture assembly.

"Is he the 'lazy asshole' you mentioned?" asks Makoto, with a wry grin.

It takes Rin a second to recall their prior conversation to mind, and another two to let it sink in, fully, that Makoto remembers his offhand remark.

Sousuke's eyebrows shoot up. "I see you've been talking about me behind my back."

"Hey, it was about the day I moved in all by _myself_ \- Tachibana had to help me - so I told him you just up and left me in the lurch."

Sousuke rubs the back of his neck with a tired yawn. "And I guess you had to go with 'lazy asshole' instead of, I don't know, 'brother-in-law who just had a baby'?"

"You didn't have the baby. Gou did. Anyway," Rin mutters, "it's still weird to call you that."

Amid Makoto's delighted handshakes and congratulations, and Ai's incessant pestering about how Rin's niece is doing, Sousuke manages to extricate his phone from his back pocket for long enough to show them some photos.

Rin gathers some daffodils and binds them together for Gou. Makoto laughs at something Sousuke says, a baby story that Rin's heard a hundred times before, and Rin smiles to himself.

 

 

 

At the foot of the tree on the corner, the fallen cherry blossoms form a slowly spreading blanket of pink.

 

 

❀

 

 

Just when Rin thinks Makoto's completely forgotten about his offer to catch the 7am delivery one day - and, in truth, Rin himself barely remembers making it - he's surprised, one morning, by an unexpected shadow across his doorway.

"Hey, Matsuoka-kun. Nitori-kun," says Makoto, with a bleary-eyed grin.

Rin's eyebrows shoot up. "Tachibana."

Makoto gives him a small wave. "I set three alarm clocks today. Or rather, Haru did, because I wouldn't shut up about how I kept missing your morning delivery… um, can I come in?"

Ai's already at the door, enthusiastically ushering him in and showing off the latest batch of tulips. Rin, in his turn, shoves a steaming mug of coffee into Makoto's hands and forbids him from touching any of the merchandise until he and Ai inspect, clean and prepare the lot. 

"Drink," he orders. "I even put _sugar_ in it for you."

He makes a face. Makoto finds an empty stool to sit on, beams right back at them, and takes a long sip.

Rin lays out orderly rows of carnations, lilies and roses, Ai gets the water buckets, and they set to work quickly. He almost forgets Makoto's there until he hears a small intake of breath.

"This is great," Makoto murmurs. His voice is still rough round the edges, throaty and soft, like he hasn't fully woken up.

Rin looks up from the countertop. "What? The coffee? It's just instant."

"No, _this_." Makoto nods at the flowers. "I feel like I'm getting to see something really special… how do I say it? Like a burst of life, or something. Hands that can care for growing things are amazing." 

He pauses, and looks away. Rin hears him laugh, sees the small, telltale curve of a self-conscious smile creep over the visible half of his face, the other half hidden in the morning light's shadow.

"Ah, this sounds crazy. Sorry, Matsuoka-kun, you should just ignore everything I say before 10 o'clock. Haru would have warned you."

 _No, say it again,_ Rin wants to tease; _I didn't hear it the first time,_ but he feels his face go flushed at the sincerity of it instead.

And he dwells, briefly, on the beautiful irony of it all as he runs his fingers over the stems, counting them off under his breath. He thinks on the fact that the flowers that come to him are in their last blush, and yet -

They will bloom forth with fullness, unafraid. They will make people smile, laugh, cry; they will heal broken days and broken hearts, they will transcend their fleeting, ephemeral lifespans, even as they inevitably wilt.

In his hands, they will become more. 

"What's your favourite flower, Tachibana?" Rin asks.

Makoto's eyebrows rise slightly, coffee cup halfway to his mouth. It's a while before he answers. When he does, his voice sounds strangely wistful.

"I guess, if I had to pick one… I like camellias. _Sazanka_ ," he adds, naming a particular variety.

 _Ah,_ thinks Rin.

He doesn't know the story here, but in that instant, he knows there _is_ one, because there's _always_ a story behind everyone's favourite flower, and more than that, he knows the sound of a voice that's carrying a deep weight with it. A memory, buried deep inside.

 _Sazanka, for reliance and modesty._ It suits him.

Rin moves down the countertop, sifting through the flowers at his fingertips. When he finds the batch he's looking for, he picks one out, cuts the stem of it neatly and washes it before handing it over to Makoto.

"Here," he says. "Take it, if you like."

The yellow heart of the _sazanka_ camellia shines, water droplets glistening in the dawning sunlight.

Makoto reaches for it, slowly and hesitantly.

"I'll buy it from you," he offers.

"Don't be stupid," Rin mutters, looking back down.

"Well, let me buy you breakfast at least? I owe Yukiko-chan a visit, anyway."

"What?" Rin glances up for a second, raises an eyebrow. "You make a point of regularly visiting all the girls in the neighbourhood?"

"No, but I have to thank her for helping you find me," says Makoto, and Rin feels that flush start up in his neck again.

 

 

 

Over buttermilk pancakes, for the second time in their brief acquaintance, Rin finds himself  - when confronted with the _possibility_ of Tachibana Makoto - thinking: _fuck it_.

He shovels a chunk of glazed banana into his mouth for fortitude.

"There's something I've been dying to ask you, but I can't figure out how without, I dunno. Being rude," he says, staring intently over the table at Makoto. "So I'm just gonna ask."

"Let me guess," says Makoto, with a knowing smile. "It's something like, _what's a nice boy like you doing as a tattoo artist?_ "

Rin sputters into his milkshake.

"I wasn't exactly going to put it like that - "

"But it was like that, wasn't it?"

Rin shrugs. "Yeah, something like that."

Makoto hums under his breath with faintly concealed amusement. "I get that a lot."

"No shit," Rin mutters, feeling self-conscious. It annoys him, somewhat, and he's annoyed at _himself_ , for being the predictable one here, when in truth he's always prided himself on his spontaneity, and - Makoto -

For someone who looks so dependable and reliable, he's been nothing but surprise after surprise so far.

It unsettles him. It excites him.

"It's not really that much of a story, though," says Makoto. "You'll probably be disappointed."

Rin arches an eyebrow. "Try me."

Makoto leans forward and props his head up in one hand. He picks up his fork with the other, and idly swirls the chocolate sauce round his plate; Rin notes with faint interest that, unconsciously, he's started to etch out the outline of a lily against the white porcelain.

"Well, Haru needed help in his shop, and I had nothing better to do."

"What do you mean, _nothing better to do_?"

"I graduated university with a degree in life sciences, and I didn't want to be a doctor, so… did you know tattooing is considered a medical procedure?"

"No. That sounds dumb," says Rin flatly.

"It is kind of weird," Makoto concurs, with a small grin. "But Haru convinced me to give it a try. And I guess it turned out to be different from what I thought it'd be."

"Have you ever tattooed any _yakuza_?" Rin blurts out.

Makoto laughs. "You'd be surprised how often I get that question. If I have, I don't know. It's not like they come in and tell us they're _yakuza_. And Haru doesn't care who our clients are as long as they shut up and pay. He just wants to make art that lasts."

"What about you?" Rin asks. "What do _you_ want?"

Makoto looks taken aback a moment, like no one's ever posed the question so directly to him before.

"Hmm… well, I wonder…"

His voice trails off thoughtfully as he turns his gaze back down to his plate. He rounds out the tip of one lily petal, and pauses, fork in midair; when he speaks again, it's with a deliberate kind of consideration, like he is picking his words with the greatest of care. Even with the breezy hum of the early morning breakfast rush all around them, Rin can hear every syllable, a low whisper that pulses in his ears.

"I think, maybe… I want to help people see what's in their hearts. Ah, that sounds strange, doesn't it? You can forget I said it."

"No," Rin says, slowly. "It doesn't sound strange at all. That's not so different from being a florist."

Makoto, lips parted, draws a quiet breath and stares at Rin.

Rin makes a snap decision, fuelled by coffee and banana pancakes.

"Tachibana. Thursday is your day off, aren't they? Come with me. To the nursery. I need to pay my supplier a visit, and if you liked what you saw this morning, I promise you'll _love_ it there."

Makoto's smile wavers -

"I can't," he says. "I'm sorry, Matsuoka-kun."

He sounds so genuine and apologetic that Rin feels bad for asking, even though he's the one who's just been rejected.

 

A hush falls between them, a few seconds too long.

 

Makoto reaches for his glass of water.

"It's okay," Rin tries to say. His voice sounds unnaturally thick in his ears.

"There's someone I need to see on Thursdays," Makoto adds quietly.

He doesn't say anything more. But there's a note of finality in his voice that thrums with veiled distance, fading away on the sunlit horizon.

And looking at him, at his leaf-green eyes and the way his brown hair falls messily across his forehead, Rin has to suppress the urge to smooth out the kinks for him; and he thinks, _what the hell -_

_I'm fucked._

Makoto sets down his water and glances down at his watch.

“You should probably head back. It's almost opening time,” he says, not looking at Rin.

“Yeah." Rin gets to his feet. “Thanks for breakfast. I’ll catch you later."

He doesn’t turn back till he reaches the doorway, and when he does, he sees Makoto’s head tilted downwards, gaze resting at the camellia by his arm. His hands are clasped so tight in his lap that Rin thinks he might fall apart if he lets go of himself. 

 

 

❀

 

 

Makoto doesn't come round the next day, or the day after. And after.

 _It's fine_ , thinks Rin.

His finger hovers, sometimes, over the number he's saved in his phone, but he doesn't know what to say without making an ass of himself anyway (and he's _very_ good at that, Sousuke likes to remind him).

He makes extra coffee in the mornings, but draws the line, _absolutely_ draws the line, hard and fast, at putting together a huge bouquet of camellias and wax flowers and leaving it on the doorstep of the tattoo parlour. Haru would probably throw it out anyway.

He drives home by a different route, one that takes the back roads at night.

He drives himself crazy with wondering, until he decides he can't take it anymore.

 

 

❀

 

 

"When you said that Tachibana likes flowers - "

At the sound of Rin's voice, Haru peers coolly at him over the top edge of _Inked!_ magazine. 

Rin shifts uncomfortably on his stool by the window.

It's nearly summer. He's been here a while now, long enough for him to pick up new habits, routines; and long enough, he supposes, for others to have learned him as well. Especially when the _others_ in question are as annoyingly perceptive as Nanase Haruka.

He gathers his courage, buoyed by Makoto's absence, and keeps going.

"He really likes them, doesn't he?"

"Well," says Haru, and stops short there, as though it's an answer.

"I've felt it for a while. I mean. When I saw the way he kept the gerberas - " 

Rin gestures vaguely, hoping he sounds more eloquent than he feels. Haru doesn't look impressed. Then again, he never does. 

"And the way looked at the fresh flowers when he came round, that morning."

"I had to set three alarm clocks," Haru murmurs, a note of distinct displeasure in his voice.

"He knows the difference between _camellia japonica_ and _camellia sasanqua_ ," Rin plows on. "Also, when we were moving in, he told you to watch the gysophilia."

Rin pauses. Haru sits, unmoving as a statue.

"Well, the thing is, _no one_ says that. It's more normal to say, _careful with those flowers_ , or even, _careful with that baby's breath_ , isn't it? But he called them the way a _trained_ florist would."

Haru lets out a tiny, exasperated sigh as he lowers his magazine, putting it down on the table. He fixes Rin with a glare that could probably shrink lesser lifeforms.

Rin glares right back, feeling his stomach turn.

"Don't ever ask Makoto about it," Haru says abruptly.

Rin's hands grip the edge of his swivel stool, so tightly he feels his knuckles trembling; something scarlet-hot rises inside, twining up his chest like a thorny vine that pricks everywhere.

"I _know_. That's why I'm asking _you_ , dumbass," he snaps, before he can help himself, and as soon as the words leave his lips he's prepared to get up and leave, to be on the receiving end of one of Haru's famously withering looks that telegraph, in no uncertain terms, _I'm done with you_. He's come to cultivate more than a passing acquaintance with those looks, in the time they've known each other.

What he doesn't expect is for Haru to narrow his eyes, tilt his head, and say:

 

"You like Makoto, don't you?"

 

 

❀

 

 

Falling in love with another person isn't quite what Rin, the resident romantic, thought it would be.

It's not a moment of sudden beauty, or a revelation that strikes out of the blue, on a cool spring day, with raindrops on his lashes and hyacinths in his arms.

It's not a feeling that seizes him all at once, possesses him, body and soul; it's not forever etched in the shape of a red rose on his forearm. He doesn't need to tattoo this on his skin to take hold of it, to let it take hold of him, to surrender everything.

 

Confronted in this moment with two options, to say _yes_ , or _no_ , to Haru's question -

It dawns on him that love is the boldest of choices.

 

 

❀

 

 

Rin feels the heat twist round his heart, so tight it hurts.

"Yeah," he says, and he tips his chin up, brimming with defiance, as he meets Haru's gaze head-on. "Yeah, I do. Got a problem?"

Haru shrugs. "Not really. But if you hurt him, I'll kill you. I've got needles."

"Ha. Thanks," says Rin, dully. "I think I might already have, so…"

Haru lets out an impatient, annoyed _tch_. "What did you do?"

Rin shoots him a cautious look from the corner of his eye. "I asked him to come look at flowers on Thursday. And he said he has someone he has to see."

Haru goes silent for a long while.

Rin lets out a ragged breath, and turns to stare out the window at the cherry blossom tree on the corner.

"It's an old friend from Iwatobi. Someone who's very important to Makoto," Haru says, at last.

Rin lets this sink in for a moment. He opens his mouth to ask a question, but the look on Haru's face makes him think better of it.

He licks his suddenly dry lips instead, and tastes lingering, smoky _houjicha_.

"When we were young - " Haru starts, then stops, like he's trying his utmost to formulate their childhood into a coherent narrative for Rin; his brow furrows faintly from the effort.

"Makoto got to know this old gardener who lived near the sea. He had a nursery, and a flower garden of his own. I remember hydrangeas, because I used to sit and draw them. If you ask Makoto, he'll remember many more. The old gardener taught him everything he knows about flowers. He gave Makoto his first seeds to grow at home."

"Camellias…. _sazanka,_ " Rin says.

It's more of a statement than a guess.

Haru nods. "Yeah. We used to visit all the time. Makoto's flower garden kept growing… until the _ojiisan_ had an accident. So now Makoto goes to visit him every week."

"Back up a bit." Rin holds up his hand. "What accident?"

"He fell in the mountains. When he was harvesting some rare plants. He's still in a coma in the hospital. Back in Iwatobi."

Rin's head spins as the pieces start to come together.

Haru picks up his magazine again. His face, half-hidden, betrays nothing; but his voice is tense, and his gaze on Rin's burns like ice, cold and tender.

"That _ojiisan_ … he was looking for a rare flower to bring Makoto."

Rin feels a lump rise at the back of his throat.

"So Tachibana blames himself," he says, staring at Haru.

"He's blamed himself for years," says Haru, very quietly. "He doesn't grow things any more. And I think he's scared."

"Scared?" Rin repeats.

Haru rolls his eyes with the unmistakable air of a fond, long-suffering best friend. "He may not look it, but he's really a big scaredy-cat."

"What's he scared of?" Rin asks.

"Isn't it obvious? Of you. And what you and your flowers make him feel."

 

 

❀

 

 

 ** _To: Tachibana Makoto_**  
**_Sent: 3 June, 6.47pm_**  
Hey. It's Rin. I know this is kind of out of the blue, I've never used your number before, but what the hell.  
Want to get lunch tomorrow?

 

 ** _To: Tachibana Makoto_**  
**_Sent: 4 June, 10.01am_**  
Or whenever. Sometime. Soon.  
I'd really like to talk to you.

 

 ** _To: Tachibana Makoto_**  
**_Sent: 6 June, 12.22pm_**  
Call me, okay?

Right, I'm starting to feel like a stalker, so I'll just stop with this one.

 

 

❀

 

 

When Rin's phone goes off in the middle of the night, he very nearly misses it. He's woken by the harsh, jarring _bzzz_ of vibrations against his tabletop, and as he scrambles to turn on his bedside light and grab hold of his phone, he takes a brief moment to be thankful, for once, that he's always been a light sleeper.

"Hello?" he says, barely daring to breathe.

"Hi, Matsuoka-kun. Ah - I probably woke you up, didn't I - "

Rin sinks back against his pillows, shoulders sagging with relief. _It's him. It's really him._

"It's fine," he says, and means it. "I'm the one who told you to call me."

"I couldn't sleep. I didn't notice the time…"

 _God_ , thinks Rin with a fiery desperation, _it's good to hear his voice_.

There's a pause, seconds of silence between awkwardness and intimacy, and then Rin says, "I'm sorry," at the same time as Makoto does too.

Makoto beats Rin to asking, "What are you sorry for?"

"Pushing you. Saying things I shouldn't have. Giving you flowers. I don't know," Rin confesses, words tumbling forth in a messy rush as he runs one hand through his hair, pushes his fringe out of his eyes and stares up at his ceiling. "What about you?"

"Calling late. Avoiding you," Makoto admits. "Haru told me he… he talked to you."

Another beat passes.

Rin listens to the sound of his breathing, Makoto's breathing; feels his heart pound in his ears. He glances at the clock on his desk. It's well past midnight.

"Hey, Tachibana…" he starts. "Do you remember when I asked you why you became a tattoo artist?"

"Yeah. We were having pancakes."

"Well, I never told you properly why I became a florist. I owe you a life story."

"You don't owe me anything - " Makoto's quick to say, but Rin keeps going.

"When I was nine, my father passed away at sea. He was a fisherman. There was a storm."

There's an intake of breath, a hush before Makoto whispers, "I'm sorry. I never knew…"

"It's okay. I was young, then. But I remember some things very clearly. I remember I was at the wake, with all these grown-ups talking in low voices, and in the middle of everything, under my father's photograph… there was a bed of chrysanthemums, and lilies, and I thought - they were beautiful. I thought it was amazing that in the middle of so much sadness, there could be something as beautiful as these flowers."

"That's so like you, to think something like that," Makoto murmurs.

Rin closes his eyes and smiles.

"Anyway, I was sitting right there. By the casket, by the flowers. And Gou - my sister - she came up to me. She was crying. I didn't know what to do, so I took an aster from the floral arrangement and put it in her hand, and her face just - it just _changed_. Like, she didn't stop crying, and she didn't become magically happier, but it was like looking down at it gave her hope, y'know?"

Rin's voice cracks slightly, and he stops for a deep breath.

Makoto doesn't say anything. He's quiet on the other end of the line, listening; even his breathing's light, like he's afraid something fragile will shatter if he exhales on it.

"I've always loved flowers. Cherry blossoms, especially. They're my favourite. And that day, when I saw how one simple aster could heal a broken heart, I just knew what I wanted to do when I grew up. So when you said that you want to help people see what's in _their_ hearts - I get it. I _get_ it - "

Rin nearly slips, lips pressed together to say _Makoto_ out loud, in the unbearable closeness of that moment, with Makoto pressed to his ear from miles away.

"I owe you an answer too," Makoto says, voice soft and hesitant when he finally speaks.

"What?"

"You asked me once why I didn't have any tattoos myself. I didn't answer, back then. I think… it's because I understand what it means to get a tattoo. And sometimes, it scares me."

"What scares you? Like, needles?"

There's a pause, and then Makoto laughs, unexpectedly. "Well, now that you mention it... "

Rin smiles with a fierce, crushing fondness, thinking back to Haru's words. _A big scaredy cat._ "I can't believe it. I've found the only tattoo artist in the world who's scared of needles. And a big guy like you, too - "

"Hey, I'm working on it! Anyway, that's not what I was talking about. I meant something more like… what a tattoo really stands for, I guess. You know, what's in your heart."

"Yeah."

"Lots of people want to get tattoos on an impulse. Because it's their birthday. Because they're drunk. Because they've had their heart broken, or they've found someone new, and they think, this time, it's forever. Do you know... I spend as much time trying to talk people out of getting a tattoo, as I do making tattoos?"

"Huh? Why would you want to chase away a customer?"

"Because I don't want them to regret it. A tattoo is permanent. You have to find that _one_ thing that you'll carry for you the rest of your life. And that's… that's huge. It's huger than most people think."

Makoto stops to breathe, long and shuddering.

"I don't know how to find something like that," he finishes, almost inaudibly.

Rin kicks off the covers. It's a hot night. He's sweating under his tank top, and his sheets are rumpled from where he's been fisting one hand into them, clenched tight like he's trying to hang on to something and never let go.

"I don't think that's something you _find_. I think it's something you decide you want, and you reach out, and grab hold of it."

"I can't do that - "

"Why _not_?" Rin presses, as he buries his head between his knees.

"Because the last time I had a dream that I tried to grab," says Makoto, so quietly it makes a chill run over Rin's skin, "someone was hurt because of it."

"You think you're not hurting anyone right now?" Rin blurts out, before he can regret it. The hour is late, in more ways than one, and he's _done_ , done with lives lived half-assed and words unsaid, because the truth is -

They're not so different from flowers, with only so long to bloom and burst into colour before they die.

"It hurts."

"Matsuoka-kun…" Makoto whispers. He sounds stricken.

Rin's voice is a raw whisper. It burns his throat. He should shut up. He can't. He can't stop talking.

"It hurts to see you wilt like this. Because you're amazing, and I know there's an equally amazing sight waiting for you, if you reach for it. A sight you've never seen before - "

"I have to go," says Makoto.

He already sounds distant, like he's drawing the phone away from his mouth.

 

" _Makoto -_ " Rin calls.

 

But all that greets him is the haunting beep of a dial tone, in the sudden solitude of his summer night.

 

 

❀

 

 

_I've done it now._

The thought keeps looping in Rin's head. As he signs for the morning delivery and looks over the boxes of today's fresh blooms, he notices that the hyacinths are especially lovely, and he remembers the day they first met.

_He'll never want to see me again._

 

He brews three cups of coffee anyway, daring, against all odds, to hope.

 

 

❀

 

 

When the sun goes down and Rin drinks a cold cup of coffee for supper, the bitter roast goes down his throat like a shot of darkening dusk, nearly as hollow as the ache that blossoms through his chest.

Ai tells him, in a tone that brooks no argument, that he will lock up for the day and that Rin should go home early, because he looks terrible.

Rin does not go home right away. He buys a takeaway _houjicha_ latte from the pancake house, gets in his car, puts on the music and drives.

He does not know where he is going at first. He follows the winding roads out of their little suburb, towards Shibuya, and Nakameguro; passes by the bridge and the Meguro River, lined in springtime with cherry blossoms that make Rin think of a sight from long ago. Now that it's summer, the trees are green. The lanterns are out by the riverbank, and so are the lovers.

Rin drives on, through Tokyo city traffic, street lights, neon signs and billboards, until he realises that an hour has passed. He's finished his latte, and he's somehow found himself on the Tomei Expressway.

From here, he knows -

If he drives all night, doesn't sleep, speeds through Kanagawa, Shizuoka, Kyoto -

By morning, he will be in Iwatobi.

 

Rin looks at his watch. It's a Wednesday night.

He _could_ be there.

He could drive, all the way to Iwatobi Station, nap on the platform and wait for the trains to come in from Tottori. He and Sousuke didn't grow up so far from there. He could even stay with the Yamazakis, if he wanted; Sousuke's parents have always been fond of him. He could be wild and free, one more time - throw caution to the wind, floor the accelerator of his janky old secondhand Mazda, and -

 

 

And what?

 

 

_Fuck it - I can't -_

And Rin takes the next exit off the highway, back to Tokyo.

 

 

❀

 

 

"You should go and see him," says Sousuke.

Rin scowls.

They're in Gou's living room - _Sousuke and Gou's_ living room, Rin reminds himself, for the hundredth time - and from the bedroom down the hall, he hears Gou's lilting voice, humming a lullaby that their mother used to sing to them. The memory's sweet, sweet and nostalgic, and Rin thinks of chrysanthemums again, rearranges the daffodils in their vase on the coffee table.

"Have you changed the water lately?" he asks, out of habit.

"Every day," says Sousuke. "And don't change the subject."

Rin flops back against the couch, fixing Sousuke with a level stare.

"How? I basically just told him that his life choices are fucked up."

Sousuke shrugs. "Sounds like you. Pushy as hell. Surely he knows that about you anyway."

Rin throws a cushion at Sousuke, who catches it, yawns, and hugs it close to his chest as he leans against the armrest. He tilts his head up at Rin, sleepy-eyed and unmovable.

"Trust me, Rin… if this Tachibana guy is really worthy of you, he'll like that about you."

"So you mean, he's a masochist," Rin says, with dull amusement.

"I married a Matsuoka, didn't I? I should know."

Rin gives Sousuke a pained grin, and raises his arm to meet the fistbump he holds out to him.

 

 

 

Outside, the last pink petal falls gently to the ground.

 

 

❀ 

 

 

 ** _From: Tachibana Makoto_**  
**_Received: 16 June, 10.06pm_**  
hello

 

 ** _To: Tachibana Makoto_**  
**_Sent: 16 June, 10.08pm_**  
Makoto…?

 

 ** _From: Tachibana Makoto_**  
**_Received: 16 June, 10.12pm_**  
its haru  
im using makotos phone  
i dont have ur number  
i dont know how to copy it to my phone makoto usually does that kind of thing for me

 

 ** _To: Tachibana Makoto_**  
**_Sent: 16 June, 10.14pm_**  
Oh. Uh, it's not that hard.  
Anyway, what do you want

 

 ** _From: Tachibana Makoto_**  
**_Received: 16 June, 10.16pm_**  
makoto wants me to give him a tattoo  
right now

 

 ** _To: Tachibana Makoto_**  
**_Sent: 16 June, 10.18pm_**  
WHAT?????

 

 ** _From: Tachibana Makoto_**  
**_Received: 16 June, 10.19pm_**  
u better come over

 

 ** _To: Tachibana Makoto_**  
**_Sent: 16 June, 10.20pm_**  
Wait, why? What does it have to do with me?

 

 ** _To: Tachibana Makoto_**  
**_Sent: 16 June, 10.21pm_**  
Hello???

 

 

❀

 

 

 _Argh_ , thinks Rin.

He stares down at his phone's unblinking notification light. His toothbrush is still in his mouth, wet hair dripping round his shoulders, through the thin cotton of his tank top.

Haru's gone silent. Rin thinks, belatedly, he should have got his number too. But the guy hardly even uses his phone. Rin doesn't remember ever seeing him with one.

Gritting his teeth, he spits out a mouthful of foam, tries, futilely, to give his hair one last towel-rub dry, and sprints out to his car without changing.

 

 

❀

 

 

He bursts through the door of the tattoo parlour like a hurricane.

Somewhere in the depths of his heart, an insistent memory tugs -

His fringe sticking to his forehead, sweat beading his brow. He's in an old top and worn-out pants meant for sleeping in, looking about as unglamorous as he'll ever be. The only thing he's missing is hyacinths. And this time, he's looking down, not up.

He's looking down at a face that's half-hidden in pillows, staring up at him, wide-eyed, from a reclining chair; and as their gazes lock onto each other's, Rin doesn't hesitate.

He walks over, threads his hands through Makoto's hair and bends down to kiss him.

"Don't do that," says Haru, from the other side of the chair. "You'll make Makoto tense up - "

But Rin, in that instant, hears nothing.

He is the blood pounding in his ears; he is the sharp, tiny intake of breath from his lips, from Makoto's lips, where they meet; he is all clack of teeth and tongue and he is clumsy, but so is Makoto, and in the reckless, burning desperation of their reaching for each other, they are one.

Makoto raises one hand to hold on to his. Their fingers twine together, tight and fast.

They are people who throw their all into what they do, heart and soul, and Rin feels something _stir_ -

Like he is drawing the fire from Makoto's belly, stoking flames, long-dormant.

He dares to risk a tiny bite on Makoto's bottom lip, and he's rewarded with a nip on his that sends a thrill down his spine.

 

 

 

When he finally comes up for breath, he's panting, and so is Makoto. Rin presses their foreheads together, stares straight into those leaf-green eyes and runs his thumb down the shell of his ear, whispers -

"What are you doing?"

"What are you doing _here_?" Makoto whispers back.

"I asked him to come," Haru murmurs.

"Haru - "

"Hey," Rin interrupts. "Don't dodge the question. You're getting a tattoo? Why? What? I thought you said - "

"I know what I said," says Makoto, drawing himself upright. His shirt, rolled halfway up his torso, falls to cover his exposed stomach, and he takes his hand off Rin's to hold on to the edge of the chair. He grips so hard he leaves indentations in the cushioning.

"And I didn't know how to face you after that," he says.

His voice is a ruin, washed up on a barren shore, but there is something in it Rin has never heard before - something _raw_ , dragged from the wreckage of a dream -

And Rin thinks that Makoto, in his brokenness, is everything.

He is greater than his perfection. He is more than his ever-ready smiles. He is real, so _real_.

"Are you kidding?" Rin chokes out. " _I_ didn't know how to face _you_. I even thought of following you to Iwatobi, but at the last minute, I chickened out."

Makoto laughs. His breath is warm on Rin's cheek.

"It was amazing you even thought of that," he says.

"No, just impulsive. I _never_ think - "

"You just go for things. And _that's_ amazing," says Makoto. "Shh… let me finish."

He raises one hand to Rin's half-opened lips, lets the tip of his finger run over Rin's dry mouth, slow and gentle.

"I'm not brave. I'm nothing special. I don't have a talent like you or Haru. But I couldn't stop thinking about what you said. And I think, I want to see it too, Rin - a sight I've never seen before - "

Rin feels the smile break over his face like dawnlight on the mountains.

"That's the first time you've called me Rin," he says.

 

 

❀

 

 

In the end, Rin sits by Makoto's side all night.

He pulls up another swivel stool and takes Makoto's hand in his, feels a clammy layer of sweat on his palm as Haru pulls on his gloves, wipes off a spot on Makoto's back, near his ribcage.

 _This will hurt_ , Haru warns.

 _I know_ , says Makoto, and Haru raises an eyebrow ever so slightly, says, _I know you know._

Makoto squeezes Rin's hand.

Rin, speechless, squeezes back, and when the needle goes in for the first time, Makoto shuts his eyes.

Rin watches in fascination as the shape of a flower forms under Haru's sure hand. He isn't squeamish, but it's not something he'd ever thought he'd see, up close like this; the ink seeping through Makoto's skin, the curve of a petal delicately threading its way down his back.

It could be a rose, or a carnation, but Rin doesn't need to see the rest of it to know what it is.

For someone who professes an indifference towards flowers in general, Rin thinks - keeping one eye on Haru - he's really good at what he does. He sets about the creation of his art with a single-minded focus, ignoring the occasional whimper from Makoto, the sound of gritted teeth and fingernails scraping into the synthetic leather of the chair.

Now and then, Rin hears a tiny, muttered swear word escape from him.

But even as Haru fills in the petals of the _sazanka_ camellia, red-pink, Makoto does not cry, and he does not look back.

 

 

❀

 

 

_You are brave, Makoto._

_You're braver than you know._

And Rin has to swallow his words, because he cannot give them voice; because there is no way to speak this, the painful purity of his emotion and the proud, rough ferocity of what's welling up inside.

He settles for leaning in to give Makoto another kiss, this time on his cheek, long and lingering.

The feel of it stays on his lips for days.

 

 

❀

  

  

> _Rin,_
> 
> _By the time you read this, I'll be gone. Don't worry about me. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you this in person, and had to leave this under your door._
> 
> _I thought about what you said. I thought about it a lot._
> 
> _I've been afraid of many things all my life, but when I met you, I never thought my greatest fear would end up being the one to tear all the others down._
> 
> _I think the thing I've been most afraid of saying that I love something - or someone - and letting them love me back, because it meant that I might hurt them, one day. But you just burst into my life so suddenly. You were like the sun after a very, very long spring rain. You gave me a glimpse of what it could be like, if I didn't let my fear fight my battles for me._
> 
> _I can't go back to how things were, now that I've had that glimpse._
> 
> _So I'm going to chase the sight you told me about._
> 
> _Be well, Rin._
> 
> _Love,  
>  _ _Makoto_

 

 

❀

 

 

Rin sprints across the road, ignores the CLOSED sign on the door of the tattoo parlour and flings it open, shoulders heaving for breath.

Haru emerges from the back room to glare at him.

"We're not open yet," he says, somewhat irritably. "Also, you're going to rip off my hinges one day."

"Where's Makoto?"

Haru eyes the letter in Rin's hand. "Didn't he tell you? He's left."

"For _where_?"

Haru pauses to take off his gloves. He goes to the tea counter, pours Rin a cup of steaming _houjicha_ and presses it silently into his hands.

Rin sinks into his usual spot, the swivel stool by the window. He takes a small, tentative sip, then a longer one.

They do not speak, for a while. The ticking of the wall clock and Haru's footsteps round the small space, sweeping, wiping surfaces, checking the tattoo machines and inks in his methodical way, are all Rin hears as he downs the rest of his tea in huge gulps.

"Are you calm now?" asks Haru, when Rin sets the cup down.

Rin takes a slow breath. "Yeah. A little calmer, I guess."

"Good. Because Makoto's gone to Australia."

Rin nearly leaps out of his chair, but something in Haru's intense gaze pins him there. " _Australia_?"

"He's going to properly study botany," says Haru.

Rin stares at Haru, open-mouthed. His expression doesn't change.

"You're serious."

"Of course I'm serious. Why wouldn't I be serious?"

" _Australia._ God. And he couldn't tell me?"

Haru leans back against the far wall, underneath a painting of the sea, and folds his arms behind his back.

"I think… he couldn't find the words, for you," he says, finally.

He doesn't add anything more, simply studies Rin with a calm equanimity, and when the first tear rolls down Rin's cheek, he picks up a tissue box from his desk and crosses the room to hand it to him.

"This is so embarrassing. If you tell Makoto I cried over him, I'll kick your ass," Rin mumbles as he blows his nose into a crumpled piece of tissue.

"I've seen a lot of people crying," says Haru, with a tiny shrug. "One more makes no difference."

"It's just - you know, I _never_ get to say goodbye to the ones I love. My dad, and now Makoto, and it fucking sucks - "

"Rin," Haru interrupts, and Rin's head snaps up, a mess of tears and snot, at the sound of his first name. The quiet stillness of Haru's voice is tinged a strange kind of urgency when he says it. _Rin -_

"It's not like that. Makoto didn't say goodbye to you because it's not goodbye. He'll come back when he's done. I don't know what he'll do after that. Maybe he'll open his own flower shop, or take up tattooing again. He's not really that bad at it."

Rin has to smile at that, through his tears, because Haru has a way of making a compliment sound like an insult - and yet, filled with honest admiration, when it's Makoto.

"But no matter what he does, he'll come back to you, Rin," says Haru.

Rin's fingers tighten round his empty cup. He turns away.

Summer's warm, through the window; the mid-morning light grazes his cheek like a searing bruise, a kiss that marks him as its own. This is his place, in Tokyo, with his flowers - in the sun -

And there is his place, right _there_ , in ink on the dip and curve of Makoto's ribcage.

 

 

 

_Love is the boldest choice._

 

 

❀

 

_So just wait_ , says Haru, when he collects the cup from Rin's hands and draws the curtains open, letting the day in.

 

 

 

And Rin, thinking of camellias, does.

 

  

❀

 


End file.
